


Dreams of Heroes

by Bemused_Writer



Series: Follow the Grey [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bemused_Writer/pseuds/Bemused_Writer
Summary: The burdens of leadership wear on Mahariel but she soon acclimates to it while also maneuvering the joys and pitfalls of dealing with her rather diverse group of companions. For all that's gone wrong, she has gained something special in someone that she never anticipated. These bonds will follow her throughout her life.Told as snapshots of Mahariel's adventures.





	Dreams of Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> This story is essentially an introduction to a much larger piece I have in the works that will span the entirety of the three games. 
> 
> There's quite a bit of unreciprocated love in the first chapter especially but this does not impact what will ultimately be the main couple (Warden/Zevran). Chapter 1 will cover the characters from Origins while chapter 2 will cover those from Awakening. 
> 
> Thank you for reading; I hope you all enjoy this venture into the Dragon Age universe with me!
> 
> Edited July 12, 2018.

**Mahariel**

It was supposed to be a normal scouting mission; it was something she and Tamlen did every day but what followed was the beginning of a series of events that would ultimately uproot Mahariel from everything she’d ever known. She couldn’t have known it at the time but later on she would look back at this point in time with some bitterness; could it all have been changed if she’d been wiser?

They’d encountered some _shemlen_ in the wilderness. This wasn’t entirely unheard of but she knew the sight of them filled Tamlen with an irrational rage. When Tamlen saw them he confronted them immediately.  Mahariel was more cautious. She didn’t hate humans but she didn’t trust them, not a bit. She only stepped out when it became clear the humans weren’t about to leave well enough alone. She didn’t want this to escalate if possible; she’d seen enough violence between elves and humans to know it never ended well.

 _This is a waste of time. Why’d they have to take this route?_ It was an old song at this point.

Tamlen wanted them dead, unsurprisingly, but Mahariel refused her companion’s inclinations.

“Are we to invite more of them, Tamlen? If we kill them they will not stop; they’ll want vengeance.”

He looked away in frustration. “I hate this about you. Shouldn’t _we_ want vengeance?”

The _shemlen_ looked at them with growing alarm and some confusion. Mahariel kept her bow aimed at them just in case; their confusion could lead them to doing something rash.

“Tell us what you were doing here. Now,” she said. It was best to establish control over the situation as swiftly as possible.

What followed was a strange explanation about a cave and some ruins.

“You cannot believe this, _lethallan_!” Tamlen cried.

Mahariel lowered her bow, her eyes cold and unforgiving as she gazed upon the humans. “Leave this forest,” she said.

The humans scurried away with only a few glances back.

When they were finally out of sight Mahariel turned to face her comrade.

“Tamlen, there could be something to what they say. Shouldn’t we investigate? I’m sure the Keeper would want us to.” Tamlen was a difficult sort but he wasn’t above seeing reason given time.

“Ugh, it’s always like this with you.” He strapped his bow to his back, frustration clear in his every movement. She said nothing, allowing him a moment of thought.

“But you are right,” he finally acknowledged. “Let’s take a look.”

~

She’d been wrong. Investigating had brought nothing but sorrow.

She couldn’t focus. There was a scurrying in the back of her head and it was driving her _crazy._

“No,” she mumbled. “I will not … yield… Tamlen!”

“What is wrong with her?”

 _Who?_ She struggled to open her eyes. The voice was familiar. Keeper Marethari?

An unfamiliar voice responded. It was low and had a urgent thread running underneath it. He was saying something about the taint.

“It’s going to be all right, Mahariel.” This was a different voice, a high pitched, melodious one. Merrill. “Keeper Marethari is doing everything she can.”

Mahariel tried to respond but everything hurt and the scurrying was now a decided _scratching_ and she could hear a voice, a rumble, and it was consuming her—

~

When Mahariel finally woke up it was to Merrill looking down at her worriedly with Fenarel at her side. Mahariel took a brief look at her surroundings. She was in one of the healing tents. Her brow furrowed.

“What happened?” Everything still felt like a dream.

“You were sick for two days. We feared you would perish. Keeper Marethari just barely brought you back.” Merrill reached over and stroked her hair. She had joined their clan at a later date due to the low amount of magic users among them. Despite that Mahariel had quickly grown fond of her; she maintained her innocence in the face of adversity and was no less wise for it. Mahariel knew it must have been hard for Merrill to leave her original clan but she was grateful to her for doing so. She would make an excellent keeper someday.

Fenarel was a good friend of Tamlen’s and, by way of proxy, of Mahariel as well.

_Tamlen._

Mahariel’s heart went cold.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where is Tamlen?”

Mahariel felt sick. She didn’t know. It should have been the first thing she asked but she was finding it difficult to organize her thoughts and now it seemed that no one in her clan had seen him either.

“I … there was a mirror. I don’t know what happened. He touched it and he disappeared. Has no one seen him?”

“We don’t know anything yet for sure,” Merrill admitted hesitantly. “You were brought here by a human named Duncan. He introduced himself as a Grey Warden. I think, maybe, he can help you. You really do need to speak to the keeper.”

Mahariel sighed. The keeper. No doubt she would scold her soundly for the risks she and Tamlen took. The worst part was that Mahariel knew she’d be right. Mahariel never should have led them to that cave.

“All right; lead the way.”

~

Duncan was … an interesting man, she supposed. Mahariel wasn’t sure if she liked him or not. There was a hard edge to his words and actions. He was a man who had seen too much hardship and was at the end of his rope. He was also the only person who could help her. She had the taint. Darkspawn had returned.

Mahariel had been in denial about what had happened to her and Tamlen right up until that moment. If there were darkspawn about, and if Tamlen were missing…

She didn’t want to accept it but Duncan was probably right. She would likely never see Tamlen again.

She wasn’t ready to mourn but the funeral began regardless. It was the respectful thing to do.

Mahariel hated it.

When she left with Duncan she did so with mixed feelings. She needed time away from her people. She wasn’t ready to face the extent of the damage she and Tamlen had wrought. Furthermore, this was the only way to honor his memory, by removing the evil spreading across the land that had taken him away from her.

Even so, she knew she would miss them all terribly. Merrill gave her a tight hug before she left.

“ _Dareth shiral._ May we meet again soon.”

“I hope so,” Mahariel replied but she had a growing fear that she wouldn’t see them for a very long time, that they would be nothing but memories to her by the time this was through.

“Be careful with that mirror, Merrill,” Mahariel added softly. She heard Merrill take a sharp intake of breath.

“How did you…?”

Mahariel held her away and smiled bitterly.

“You’re the Keeper’s first, Merrill, and you’re one of the most curious people around. I’m not saying you shouldn’t study it. It’s obviously part of our history somehow but … be careful, all right? I don’t want to hear that you disappeared as well.”

Merrill nodded somberly. Mahariel turned to Fenarel and gave him a quick embrace.

“Don’t become too bitter, Fenarel. You’ve a good heart.”

“The same to you, Mahariel. I fear your burden as a Grey Warden will be great.”

 Mahariel closed her eyes and gave him another tight squeeze before turning away and joining Duncan. She avoided looking at the keeper. She could feel the sorrow radiating off of her.

She wondered if Paivel would have to do another prayer for the dead soon.

**Alistair**

When Mahariel first met Alistair she considered him a curiosity. He was generally a flustered, ignorant sort but utterly harmless as far as humans went. She was surprised at how much she liked him. He had an easygoing nature that was relaxing to be around and they became fast friends. Her only real concern was how much he shunned the burdens of leadership. If she had been a harder person, a crueler one, she would have told him he had no right to force her to lead their band of misfits to certain doom. She didn’t say it though but in her darker moments she thought it.

Most of the time she and Alistair traded stories and laughs, though. He was such a loyal person but not terribly worldly. She was beginning to realize that was something they had in common.

Now that she wasn’t among the Dalish she was uncertain of what her role in the world was. People treated her like a servant more often than not and she could barely restrain her anger at the squalor most elves lives in.

Alistair was a good distraction from all that. He didn’t treat her “like an elf.” He didn’t seem to notice it for the most part even though he towered over her in height. Why were humans so tall, anyway?

She didn’t bring up her difficulties with him, however. Alistair was a fun friend but he wasn’t the best at giving advice.

~

She caught him sneaking shy glances at her on occasion during their travels that she pretended not to notice for both their sake. It had taken her awhile to put two and two together but some of Alistair’s comments could be interpreted as nothing other than flirtatious. Amusingly flirtatious, he was always a jokester, but she decided not to engage. Nothing could ever truly form between them and while she cared for him she didn’t in that way.

Despite the struggle they faced on a day-to-day basis he was still so innocent. He looked at her like she were sunlight and she could almost believe there weren’t shadows wrapping around her soul.

~

She hated herself a little bit for taking his greatest fear and making him live it. The look of betrayal on his face when she made him king, had him marry Anora, was a face she had never anticipated to be directed at her. When she refused to be his advisor she knew she had crushed him entirely. She explained she had to find more wardens, that it was her _duty_ to restore the order. Wasn’t that what Alistair should want too?

“And what of your own people?” Alistair snarled. She stared at him in disbelief. He had never brought up the Dalish before, had always treated her as just another warden. His lips wavered and he cried softly, “What of me? How can you leave me like this?”

She said something but she couldn’t quite recall what. It hadn’t been a satisfactory answer either way. She left with a friendship in tatters and Alistair’s words ringing in her head.

 _What of my own people indeed._ Her step was beleaguered. Wasn’t she supposed to be returning to her clan? Why was she getting even more involved with human affairs than she’d been by token of joining the Grey Wardens?

Maybe Alistair was right.

When she returned to her room Zevran looked up at her worriedly.

“Whatever is the matter, _mi amora_?

She didn’t know how to explain that she might have lost one of her greatest friends and she had no one to blame but herself.

**Morrigan**

Dark, raven hair and sharp, eagle eyes. That was Mahariel’s first impression of Morrigan and she was so pleased to see the woman in question was every bit as cunning and fierce as she had hoped when she first met her. It had been a polite introduction but underneath it all Mahariel was simply fascinated to know who this individual was. She suspected Morrigan was more taken aback by her attention than she let on but one could never be entirely certain with the Witch of the Wilds.

Mahariel took care to keep her attraction to herself. The Blight was hardly the time to be pursuing a romance anyway and, if Mahariel were honest with herself, it was doubly strange to find a human attractive in the first place. Mahariel felt a little guilty at that; she’d never thought of herself as holding any biases but now that she was surrounded by humans she was beginning to think she had some holdover from all her time with the Dalish. She wondered what Tamlen would have thought. Most likely he would have been outraged but with enough time he would have accepted it. Maybe he would have found it amusing.

~

Morrigan had a harsh tongue, Mahariel quickly learned, but she was delightfully straightforward in her opinions as well. It was a cool night at camp when she meandered over to Morrigan’s tent hoping for a little conversation. It had been a long day and Alistair had gone to bed already. Near him the mabari, Moya, slept beside him letting out little _woofs_ in response to its dreams.

Mahariel was in no mood to fall immediately to sleep; her mind was spinning with the day’s events.

Morrigan looked up at her from where she was seated beside the fire. She looked unsure, which was unusual to say the least but she was also awake, which was all Mahariel needed.

“Evening, Morrigan,” she began and then quickly found she wasn’t sure what to say next. “Could we chat…?”

“Full of questions, are we? I think ‘tis my turn to ask you a few, don’t you think?”

Mahariel found that to be fair. She’d been digging at Morrigan’s past for days now, so if Morrigan wanted a few answers to questions of her own she would be happy to reciprocate.

 “Have you learned much of Dalish magic?” Morrigan finally asked.

Mahariel shook her head. “I know the basic theories but I am no mage. Why?”

Morrigan gestured beside her and Mahariel took a seat, waiting to see where this went. Morrigan collected her thoughts in silence before letting out a small grin. Mahariel’s heart fluttered a little.

“Your people’s history is fascinating to me. We humans have lost so much by ignoring your society. The Old Gods…” she broke off and shook her head.

“I, too, would like to see our people on equal ground,” Mahariel said.

“’Tis a nice thought indeed. But unlikely, I think, for now. I … have been difficult with you, I know. We are not often of the same mind but I want you to know I do not follow you unwillingly.” They were heavy words for Morrigan.

 Mahariel looked away in a mix of embarrassment and delight. She was fairly certain this was Morrigan’s roundabout way of turning her down but to know that Morrigan didn’t resent her for bringing her along, well, that was already more than she’d hoped for.

“There are some things we agree upon. Dalish history, for one. Have you studied it in detail?” Mahariel asked curiously, deciding to focus on the more direct topic. She wasn’t used to humans having any interest in the subject. She herself had tended more toward combat, toward preserving her society, rather than learning the intricate details of the past. Now that she had no contact with her clan she wondered if she had made a grave mistake in letting it all slip past her.

“I have,” Morrigan admitted. “’Tis most helpful in learning magic. Much of what the Circles teach is unknowingly based on old elvhen lore to my understanding. My own abilities, shape-shifting, have their roots in what the ancient elvhen could do, as you well know.”

“We have something similar but your own abilities are truly remarkable, Morrigan.”

Morrigan hummed softly obviously trying to hide how pleased she was by the compliment. Mahariel found it one of her more endearing qualities.

“Tell me what you’ve learned,” Mahariel said. “I miss my people. Perhaps I can teach you something as well.”

“A most equitable offer. I would be happy to.”

~

When Morrigan first asked her to kill her mother, Mahariel thought it was a joke.

It wasn’t.

“It’s a dangerous thing to attempt,” Zevran acknowledged when she’d come to him later seeking out advice. He’d been traveling with them for a while by that point and had become a valued friend. “I would suggest taking another course should one present itself. This Flemeth isn’t to be trifled with.”

“But Morrigan—“

“She’s a formidable witch herself, no? You’d be risking a great deal in an effort to win over her affections.” Zevran gave her a knowing look. Perhaps it was his training as an assassin but he often seemed to understand her better than she did.

In the end, she took Zevran’s advice and made a deal with Flemeth. She wondered at the pain in Flemeth’s voice and hoped that Morrigan had misunderstood her mother for the sake of everyone involved.

When she returned the grimoire to Morrigan’s eager hands she had to resist flinching at the awe and gratitude in Morrigan’s voice. The acknowledgment of their friendship afterwards pierced Mahariel to her core. She knew how hard these words were for her and she knew that she didn’t truly deserve it.

When she walked away from Morrigan’s section of camp to her own she pointedly refused to make eye contact with Zevran. She wondered if she would find compassion there or derision. She didn’t know which would hurt more.

                                                                                                                                ~

Mahariel owed Morrigan more than she’d ever be able to repay. She had singlehandedly saved Mahariel’s and Alistair’s lives. She was one of the few people Mahariel felt she could talk to about anything. She was a treasured friend.

 _But she still left_ , Mahariel couldn’t help but think bitterly. She tried to bury herself in more and more work in an effort to forget that she didn’t even know if Morrigan was still alive or whether she had successfully given birth to her child. It was a sadness that lingered but Mahariel was getting exceptionally good at sectioning her various disappointments away.

**Leliana**

Mahariel had never been a great fan of the Chantry or human religion more generally, so she had been wary of Leliana’s claims and taken aback by her eccentric ways. Even so, she was amused by this strange woman and had quickly invited her to join them. If nothing else, she figured Leliana might be a good friend for Alistair.

She quickly learned she had misjudged Leliana in more ways than one. Leliana was, indeed, a Chantry sister and a devout woman who didn’t really “get” elvhen issues but she was also willing to admit when she was wrong and took Mahariel’s sharp words with good grace. Mahariel had even grudgingly apologized herself.

“I know you meant well, Leliana. It’s just … hard to hear these things with such frequency.”

“No, no. I am the one who must apologize. It never occurred to me how little I know of your people. It’s something I’ll have to pay more attention to from now on.”

It turned out Leliana was a bard as well as a Chantry sister. It was not a combination she would have ever thought to put together herself. Still, Leliana enjoyed telling stories and Mahariel liked listening to them; it was so similar to what her own people did. She thought that was all the term meant at first—Leliana was a storyteller.

It required a bit of explaining on Leliana’s part but Mahariel eventually put it together: Leliana was an assassin and by the sound of it, quite a good one.

Mahariel had mixed feelings on the subject. The Dalish revered life but understood necessity sometimes required hard choices. Certainly her own clan hadn’t been made of pacifists. But assassination wasn’t something that ever happened among the Dalish. Perhaps it was because there were so few of them to begin with.

Ultimately she decided to view Leliana’s background as a boon and she spent more time inquiring after Leliana’s skills, making a point not to think too hard about how she got those skills. Eventually, laughing a little, Leliana asked if perhaps she would simply like to be taught? Mahariel agreed eagerly and they spent many days and nights discussing technique. The differences in blending in around a city versus a forest were especially fascinating to Mahariel, who still found cities bizarre constructs.

“Someday I will have to take you to Orlais,” Leliana said with a flirtatious twinkle in her eye. “I think you would look marvelous in one of our dresses. And the _shoes…_ ”

Mahariel just chuckled and said she would enjoy seeing her homeland. If she were honest, the thought of seeing such a grand city filled her with apprehension but she thought she might be able to manage it if Leliana came with.

                                                                                                                                ~

When they met Zevran Mahariel’s tolerance for having assassins in her midst was put to the ultimate test. Zevran had definitely murdered in cold blood; he’d tried to murder _her_ in cold blood. He also had very few qualms about admitting to it; it was a job after all. No hard feelings.

 It was jarring; Zevran was a fellow elf but he’d been raised with a radically different set of morals from her own. She turned to Leliana uncertainly. Did she feel the same way Zevran did?

Even so, she’d had very little hesitation about inviting him along. She found she didn’t want him to die and she didn’t want revenge. Tamlen would have definitely disapproved.

 Mahariel hoped he would be a good friend for Leliana. Perhaps the two would find a kindred spirit in one another. She was only partially correct. They had a lot to talk about certainly but they were also hell bent on arguing over everything including the Chantry and the best way to kill someone.

 _Why me?_ It wasn’t the first time she wondered and it was unlikely to be the last. Mahariel did her best to side-step any issues between the two and called it a day.

                                                                                                                                ~

When Marjorlaine made herself known Mahariel urged compassion. Leliana was a Chantry sister, she was _changed._ The thought of her losing that special spark was too much, especially after so much had changed between her and Alistair. With one ill thought out sentence she had laid seed to a darkness in him that refused to lift. It horrified her that the darkness growing in her own heart was capable of spreading. He no longer told jokes to the same degree and seemed resigned to something. No, she couldn’t let the same happen to Leliana, too.

Afterwards, when they were back in camp, Leliana had embraced her and given her a peck on both cheeks. Mahariel had simply blinked in confusion. She never could tell if Leliana’s people were simply overly affectionate or if she was missing something obvious.

“Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if I had killed Marjorlaine. I don’t know if she is truly gone but for now… Well, let’s continue on our adventure, shall we?”

Mahariel didn’t need to be told twice. Her mission as a Grey Warden was never far from her mind now. She didn’t mention it to Leliana; she was just glad she’d finally helped someone in her group beyond a shadow of doubt.

**Sten**

If someone had told her she’d someday become fast friends with a man who had murdered an entire family in cold blood she would have seen red. Things had changed to the point that now she simply accepted that this was what her life was and it included a lot of amicable murderers.

Sten was actually a fairly wise man in her opinion and sincerely regretted his actions. Mahariel admitted she wasn’t altogether familiar with the Qun, so she and Sten discussed it throughout their travels. He wasn’t much of a talker but he was a solid presence at her side and she felt more assured having him there.

When she was given a chance to help him regain himself by finding his sword she gladly took it. It cemented something between them that neither could fully explain but it made her smile nonetheless.

                                                                                                                                ~

Zevran stood at her side, a silent guardian. It was bright and sunny out. They had both come to wish Sten well on his journey home. The sails of the boat rippled gently in the breeze behind him. He was dressed in what Mahariel assumed was traditional Qunari armor.

Zevran wasn’t as close to Sten as she was but even he had been disappointed to hear he was leaving. “He is so much fun to tease. It’s hard to tell, but he likes it,” Zevran said by way of explanation.

“I wish I could come with you,” Mahariel sighed. Everyone was leaving her and while she was trying not to take it personally she had hoped more tied them all together than the Blight.

 “As do I. But you have your duties. The Qun would approve of someone pursuing that so diligently.”

“I thought you said the Qun didn’t let women be warriors?” Mahariel teased.

“You are … something of an enigma. You’re more a force of nature than a person.”

“A more fitting description of my warden I have never heard,” Zevran chuckled. “Never change, my dear.”

If Sten were the sort to indulge, Mahariel felt certain he would have rolled his eyes. Mahariel knew he was fond of Zevran in his own way but Zevran was yet another conundrum for the man. He turned back toward Mahariel , gentleness in his eyes.

“I pray we never meet on the battlefield. I will remember our friendship across the sea.”

It was possibly the greatest compliment Sten had ever paid her.

  **Oghren**

Somehow, and Mahriel really didn’t know how, she’d ended up with a drunken dwarf on her hands. Permanently. Why he wanted to travel with her after she’d been forced to murder his wife she really didn’t know. Why he wanted her to play his “wingman” was even more mysterious.

While she had her misgivings, Mahariel found that she hoped things worked out between Oghren and Felsi. Part of her felt bad for Felsi but she seemed to genuinely care for Oghren. Maybe that would be enough.

In Mahariel’s experience it usually wasn’t but she was trying to stamp down on her eternal well of pessimism.

                                                                                                                ~

“You’re an odd one. Even for an elf,” Oghren slurred.

“Am I now?” she sighed. They’d been talking for the last thirty minutes and already she was losing track of what, exactly, they were talking about.

“Yeah. You fling yourself into battle like you were born to it but you’re squeamish about other people’s violent pasts. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

Oghren was actually making sense. Gods help her.

“I don’t want to hear about my friends suffering.” It was sidestepping the issue and Mahariel knew it but she didn’t want to admit that, sometimes, her friends really did make her a little uncomfortable.

He snorted, unimpressed. “If you want to understand them you have to take them as they are. Don’t be a coward. Be the warrior you are on the field.” He promptly passed out after that but she considered his words carefully. She’d been terribly unsure of where she stood in relation to her comrades lately. She was the leader, clearly, and she was comfortable in battle--more and more it was the only place she was comfortable and that was definitely something she’d avoided confronting--but knowing how to respond to everyone’s radically different backgrounds, remembering what to say to whom, it was a constant dance she was forced into and it was tiring.

But Oghren had a good point. She was treating it like … like politics. But these were people. Her people. Dare she think it: they were her clan at this point.

She had to be better than this.

Even though she was next to the fire she felt cold.

**Wynne**

It was nighttime in camp and they were all resting after a long, arduous battle in the Circle. Mahariel was having a hard time remembering the last time she’d been so tired. The edges of her vision were starting to blur but she knew she couldn’t go to bed just yet. As the leader she had to make sure everyone else was all right first, which in her book meant taking first watch. She also knew that if she didn’t take first watch she probably wouldn’t be taking any other watch; she planned on sleeping like a log as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

She silently cursed Alistair for landing her in this position once more before she meandered about the perimeter of camp once more. She didn’t have to wander around but she knew if she didn’t she’d probably fall asleep standing up.

She started when she heard a twig snap behind her. A dagger was in her hand and she was spinning around to meet the intruder without any conscious thought. Her hand stilled as she realized it was Wynne whom she had met earlier that day. Had it only been a day? Time in the Beyond made everything blur together without meaning.

“What are you doing?” Mahariel hissed. “I could have hurt you!”

“I may be an old woman but I’m not that hapless.” She sounded annoyed but her eyes softened at Mahariel’s stance. “Still, I didn’t mean to startle you. I find I’m unable to sleep and I wished to converse with you, if I may.”

Mahariel finally lowered the dagger, feeling self-conscious.

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

It turned out Wynne simply wanted to make sure _Mahariel_ was doing all right. It had been so long since Mahariel had experienced maternal concern aimed at her it left her utterly flabbergasted.

Once Wynne decided she wasn’t going to go berserk over what she’d experienced in the Fade she took her leave, reminding her that she was always there for her if she needed her.

It hurt a bit to know that she was concerning her comrades but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her feel a little better as well.

**Shale**

Shale’s tolerance began with silence and ended with birds, Mahariel quickly learned. Morrigan found the addition of a golem to their party fascinating from a scholarly standpoint but Mahariel suspected she wasn’t pleased outside of that. Zevran had been delighted. She was often mystified by the things that brought Zevran joy but she was pleased to have Shale traveling with them and said nothing further about it.

“What do you think? Do I not glow radiantly like this?”

Mahariel would never again think vanity was reserved for people of flesh and bone. She hadn’t even known it was something she had thought until she met Shale.

“You’re stunning, Shale,” she replied. She supposed it was true as well. The glowing gems she had added to herself were quite lovely and there was something to be said about traveling with someone who could intimidate passersby with a single look, not to mention she had the raw, physical strength to back it up.

Moya barked in agreement.

“That dog of yours is repulsive,” Shale said idly. “But it has good taste.” Moya shook its tail slowly as though uncertain of whether that was a compliment or not.

~

When Shale and Wynne announced they’d be traveling to Tevinter together to look for a way to restore Shale’s dwarven body Mahariel had been shocked into silence. When had those two become friends? Were they friends? Was this simply the spirit of wisdom’s desire to attain new knowledge?

Her mind was running a mile a minute before she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Zevran say, “That sounds like quite an adventure. A pity we cannot join you right away.”

 _We._ Mahariel felt a thrill at the word that could have been embarrassing if she didn’t know it brought Zevran an equal amount of joy.

“Will the two of you be gone long?” Mahariel finally managed to say. Perhaps it didn’t matter when the two had become friends. What did matter was that they’d be keeping each other company. Mahariel had learned that the value of friendship, of someone willing to stay by your side, no matter the reason, wasn’t something that could be measured.

“It’s difficult to say,” Wynne admitted. “I don’t even know how much time I have left. But I think we should be able to find something. Tevinter is quite open to all manner of magic.” Her expression darkened briefly but she shook her head slightly and continued. “There will be much to do but I am hopeful.”

“I have no fear of Tevinter,” Shale said brusquely. “But I feel as though my dwarven self would have wanted to remain as such. I am simply curious to see if it is even possible.”

“Of course. I wish you both the best of luck. Let us meet again someday.”

“Unless I become a dwarf I will live long past you.”

“I think Shale is trying to say this won’t be a long goodbye,” Wynne corrected gently. “I hope to see you again soon as well, Warden.”

**Zevran**

An oath of loyalty. Mahariel wasn’t sure what to make of that. Likewise, she wasn’t sure what to make of Zevran. He’d tried to kill her but with all the things that were trying to kill her on a daily basis she couldn’t find it in herself to hold a grudge. Furthermore, he was a lot more … talkative than most of her opponents. Far more graceful in defeat as well. And handsome.

She crushed that last thought with an iron fist. It had just been awhile since she’d seen a fellow elf that was all. Zevran’s looks were completely average. Tolerable.

Completely breathtaking.

“Why?” She wailed plaintively as she buried her face in her hands. She was sitting on a log in front of the fire. She didn’t have privacy. She was steadfastly ignoring the weird look Alistair was giving her. She couldn’t make sense of this onslaught of feeling. They’d barely even _spoken_ to each other.

Furthermore, he flirted with anything that moved aside from her. It figured she would face a silent rejection once more. She tried not to think of Morrigan that way; she was a treasured friend but sometimes it was hard.

Either way, why would she want the attention of a man with such loose morals? Preposterous.

It didn’t make the feeling go away though.

~

“He is handsome, you know,” Leliana said abruptly one day as they scouted ahead. Mahariel almost tripped over a root winding its way across the road.

“Who?” she stammered, trying to make it look like she’d tripped on purpose. She didn’t succeed.

“Zevran, of course,” Leliana laughed. “I see the looks.”

“Looks?” Was that her voice? Why was it so high pitched?

“Well, I suppose it’s more him looking at you. You avoid him at every opportunity.” Leliana looked her up and down. “Does he repulse you? I suppose that would make sense all things considered but you invited him to come along, so I didn’t think it would be a problem.” Leliana’s eyes were locked onto her and Mahariel knew there would be no escape.

Leliana was in storyteller mode and she wouldn’t rest until she had all the pieces in place for future songs. It would have been flattering if it wasn’t so misguided.

“Zevran isn’t looking at me, Leliana.” She kept the bitterness out of her voice but only barely. “At least not like that.” _I’m the leader and everyone does that_ went unsaid but it was heavy in the air.

 “I spared his life, so I’m sure he’s grateful but that’s all it is.”

 Leliana shook her head slightly and then aimed and notched her bow with an ease that only came from diligent practice. When she released it a deer fell immediately; it would do well in the questionable stew Alistair liked to make. Finally, Leliana looked back at her as though there hadn’t been a single pause in their conversation.

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Maybe you should try looking back.”

                                                                                                                                ~

Ultimately, she decided to take Leliana’s advice. It wasn’t easy; she’d spent a lot of time trying to avoid Zevran in an effort to avoid making herself a fool but when she finally did she realized that Zevran did look at her differently than everyone else. He still flirted with everyone as much as usual but she noticed that his eyes would slip away toward her even as he did so. She was unsure of what to make of it. He was normally a surreally straightforward person toward anyone he was interested in. If he wasn’t saying anything, didn’t that mean there was nothing to say?

She considered asking him about it but it occurred to her she hadn’t even attempted to get to know him in any shape or form. Asking him about a “look” would be the height of arrogance.

So when she walked up to him while he was patrolling the camp she ignored the aura of expectation radiating from him and instead said, “Tell me about yourself.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them saying anything, until Zevran finally started to laugh.

“You looked so serious! That’s it? I suppose I can follow such an order.”

It was said teasingly but Mahariel flushed in horror. “I’m sorry, I—it’s not an order. I meant that I’d like to know more about you. If you’re willing.” Why couldn’t she have just said that in the first place?

“Well, well, something about myself, hm? What would you like to know?”

“You worked with the Crows. What did you learn there?” It wasn’t an overly personal question she hoped but it wasn’t devoid of anything meaningful either.

Once the conversation got going Mahariel was amazed at just how easy it actually was to talk to Zevran. He had all manner of anecdotes and was equally interested in her thoughts on a variety of things as well.

 _This man is an assassin?_ She found it hard to believe even with his descriptions of the missions he’d gone on. It occurred to her that he was probably only telling her about his milder assignments to put her at ease. The stories put him in a poor light as far as his success rate went but he ultimately made little reference to blood and gore. Mahariel found she was a little frustrated by that. She wasn’t an innocent that needed to be spared the grisly details of life. Oghren was right; she needed to accept people for who they were. She wanted to accept Zevran.

Even so, she didn’t have the heart to demand a more truthful account of his time as an assassin. It seemed like it would be … rude. Maybe he’d open up to her about it some other time.

                                                                                                                                ~

“You’re a member of the Dalish, are you not?”

It was the first time Zevran had pried into anything resembling personal information. They were currently situated under a large oak. It was a peaceful moment, something that was becoming increasingly rare.

“That’s right,” she acknowledged. “Why?”

“It’s just that we are currently in a Dalish camp and you fit in so well. I had to know for sure.” He hesitated a moment. “My mother was of the Dalish as well.”

Now that was interesting. Zevran had never mentioned family before. She had assumed the Crows were his family. A highly dysfunctional one but still.

“What was she like?”

“I am not sure,” Zevran sighed. “I used to have a pair of her gloves. They were beautiful. I always imagined she was as lovely as the gloves themselves.” He told her a bit more about how she had died and how he had been raised by prostitutes. The story made her uncomfortable; Zevran had done absolutely nothing to deserve such a fate and yet it was bestowed upon him indiscriminately.

“Now you look worried, my Grey Warden. What is wrong?” A few elves passed by and eyed them curiously. Mahariel ignored them.

“What happened to you is terrible but you talk about it like it’s nothing,” she said lowly. She had forgotten how much Dalish clans liked to gossip. Well, they were such tight knit groups she supposed it wasn’t surprising. Something new was something that had to be discussed at length and for weeks at a time. She’d never noticed before; her time away had changed her. She valued privacy far more than she ever had before.

Zevran picked at a few nearby flowers. Mahariel couldn’t remember what they were called.

“Surely your own life has not been so idyllic? Come now, we can share our sorrows the way friends do.” He raised an arm almost tentatively as though he thought she might push him away. It was a surprising gesture, as was the acknowledgment of their friendship, but far from unwelcome.

She leaned into the partial embrace. It was a strange sensation to have his arm around her shoulders. They were both wearing leather armor but it proved to be comfortable regardless. He rested his chin on her head.

It was … nice.

At some point she had stopped feeling nervous around Zevran. She wasn’t even entirely sure why it had been such an issue in the first place. She was as charmed by him as ever but now that she knew him it felt realer, stronger. Like something that maybe she could allow herself to have.

“So, what weighs on my warden’s mind, hm?”

What indeed. Mahariel could think of an endless list.

“And nothing so obvious as the Blight, my dear.”

Well, that removed a great deal of conversing potential and she told him so. He let out a laugh and ran his fingers through her hair affectionately.

“What about our resident Witch of the Wilds?”

Mahariel turned toward him, startled. She hadn’t expected him to bring it up. The last time he had mentioned anything related to it had been when she’d brought him along to handle Flemeth.

“She is incredibly beautiful; I can see why you would desire her. She would be fortunate to have one such as you.”

“You know that’s not possible, Zevran,” she said tiredly. She’d been pointedly not thinking about Morrigan, Flemeth, and honesty for a while now.

“And why not?”

“She doesn’t feel that way about me.”

Zevran considered that briefly. “Would you pursue her then? If your affections were returned?”

“I’m … not sure. I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Appropriate? Whoever cared about something like that?” The outrage in Zevran’s voice was enough to illicit a surprised laugh out of her.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t it seem like fraternization? I’m the one leading our band of misfits after all. I shouldn’t muddle it up with things like that.”

“I suppose this is why you also haven’t pursued Alistair or Leliana, then. What a trail of broken hearts you are leaving in your wake!”

“Alistair … it wouldn’t work with Alistair. I care for him but not like that. And Leliana doesn’t think that way about me.” She said it with more confidence than she felt.

“I’m starting to think you are blind,” Zevran said in amusement. “But maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mahariel was starting to feel annoyed. Zevran noticed the mood shift and held her a little tighter by way of apology.

“Merely that you underestimate how much you mean to the people around you.” She couldn’t see his face but he sounded wistful. Was it because of her? Was he remembering someone else? Why was it so hard to understand one elf? Finally he released her and returned to inspecting the flowers.

“My apologies. I said I would listen to your woes and now I am merely expressing my own.”

Leliana’s words came, unbidden, back to her. _Maybe you should try looking back._

Had she been right? But that would be too good to be true and things rarely went the way Mahariel wanted them to.

“What about you, Zev?” she said carefully. “I’m sure your love life is more interesting than my own.”

“My own? Are you sure you wish to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Mahariel wasn’t in the mood for coyness. If he was going to inquire about her affairs she felt it was only fair to do the same.

“I suppose I have quite a history. It’s not restricted merely to women either. Does this bother you?”

She looked at him disbelievingly. “Zevran, how could it?”

“You are better than most, I suspect. Let’s see…”

What followed was an interesting tale of how “love” was used in his work as a Crow but Mahariel didn’t miss how he left out any story of real attachment. But he was relaxed again, so she figured that whatever had been troubling him had passed. She thought about asking him what he felt toward her but she refrained. She wasn’t sure she was ready to know.

She bought some material from one of the merchants afterwards.

“Making anything interesting?”he asked.

“The finest pair of embroidered Dalish gloves I’ve ever made, hopefully.” The merchant nodded encouragingly and she set to work, taking care to ensure Zevran didn’t pick up on what she was doing. When she finally presented the gloves to him the look of pure joy on his face left her smiling for days after.

~

They ended up sparring together in camp in much the same way she and Leliana had. It was easier with Zevran; they both favored dual wielding blades. Mahariel had been trained to use a bow and arrow, was even quite good at it, but she had always preferred the sword when given an option.

Zevran may have been an assassin like Leliana but she quickly learned the two emphasized different tactics. Leliana liked to blend in plain sight and would purposefully get mixed up in politics. Zevran liked to do things from the shadows and to get things done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Hence all the poisons.

“If you mix these together you’ll get an even more lethal dose than you would normally. The look on a person’s face after they ingest some is really a sight to behold but … ah, that is not something you need to know.” His eyes twinkled teasingly.

“I think I can handle your stories, Zev.” Her humor had gotten decidedly darker throughout her journey. “Besides, poisons come more naturally to me, I suppose? I worked with plants for my clan, usually for the sake of healing but we had to learn what not to combine since it would be, well, poisonous. In a way, we were learning how to poison people by default of learning how not to kill someone.” Mahariel found that inordinately amusing. Zevran let out a huff of laughter.

“I suppose you make a good point, my dear. Just don’t mix up your healing potions with your poisons, hm? That would be most unfortunate.”

~

“Do you look at everyone that way?”

She finally said it. It had taken weeks but she’d finally asked the question that had been driving her insane ever since Leliana had pointed it out.

The smile on Zevran’s face was surprisingly gentle all things considered. “Not everyone. But a beautiful woman like yourself? Why not? You already draw so many stares.”

“I—what?”

Zevran shook his head pityingly. Mahariel was disturbed to see how much this conversation was starting to resemble the one she’d had with Leliana about Zevran himself. Was she really so unaware of the people around her?

“But you would prefer I desisted, perhaps? It would be difficult, traveling as we do in close proximity, but I am nothing if not a gentleman.”

“Wait, so it does mean something? And weren’t you the one who was telling me I shouldn’t care about what’s appropriate?” she demanded.

“I meant if someone returns your affections, why not pursue it? But I am not the kind of man who would force myself on another,” he said sternly. “And the look? Of course it means ‘something.’ What is so surprising about that?”

Everything, Mahariel wanted to say.

“But I am content with our friendship. It is more than I had hoped for when we first met. To be honest, I rather thought you didn’t like me.”

Mahariel was shocked into silence once more before exclaiming, “You were the one who didn’t like me!” Moya looked up, startled, from its nap. Perhaps they should have moved further away from the camp.

It was Zevran’s turn to be silently shocked. Finally, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You flirted with everyone other than me! You barely spoke to me after you joined and, well, how else was I supposed to take it….” she trailed off. She felt ridiculous.

“You wouldn’t even look at me,” Zevran finally replied. “I thought that was a clear indication of dislike. You cannot possibly be saying you were just … nervous?” He said the word as if it were a foreign concept. “But you are so strong!” Zevran continued. “Do not tell me the fierce warrior is also a shy maiden.” There was a wicked look in his eyes now.

“You’re mocking me.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Zevran insisted. “It is a lovely look on you, though not as lovely as when you sneak up on your enemies and go in for the kill.” His eyes glazed over momentarily before continuing.  “It’s merely … unexpected, my dear. Your face is so cold when you are avoiding someone. How could I have known?”

“You didn’t exactly make it obvious yourself, you know.”

“Hmm, I suppose. I will have to change all that soon enough. But for now, let us get a move on. Sunrise is just around the corner.”

~

“So, tell me, have you any dark secrets?” Zevran sighed into her neck.

They were curled together inside Mahariel’s tent. Zevran was trailing kisses up and down her neck, his arms firmly wrapped about her.

“None as interesting as your own, I'm sure.”

“Hmm, how about your name? It’s always ‘Warden’ or ‘Mahariel’ but one is a title and the other a surname, surely?”

Mahariel shifted so she was facing him and drank in the sight of his face. It was hard to see in the dim lighting but a sliver of moonlight peaked through to offer a little more detail. As usual, he looked absolutely beautiful.

“I don’t usually like to go by it,” she started hesitantly.

“Rest assured I will only use it to tease you mercilessly in private, if it is amusing enough.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately. “It’s Mirithie.”

Zevran sucked in a breath. “Of course it is a lovely name. I would expect no less for one such as you.” He traced the _vallaslin_ on her face. “How did someone like me become so lucky?” he added so quietly Mahariel wondered if she was supposed to hear it. He sounded lost, as though he didn’t know what to do with what was blossoming between them. Mahariel felt much the same.

Rather than talk further she raised herself slightly and kissed him firmly, cradling his face in her hands, hoping that would explain it for both of them.

~

When she finally saw Tamlen again she was overwrought with emotion. She’d known, or at least suspected, but to see his suffering so pronounced …

It was devastating.

She hid herself away among the trees surrounding their camp, hoping to settle her emotions.

She heard footsteps behind her. They were soft and she knew that if he’d wanted to he could have been so silent she wouldn’t have heard him at all. He was making sure she knew he was there.

“What is it, Zev?” she sighed, burying her face in her knees.

Zevran leaned against her side questioningly. She returned the gesture after a moment and he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t pretend to understand the extent of her sorrow.

She buried her face in his shoulder. She’d accepted that around Zevran she didn’t have to be the perfect leader and she knew he wouldn’t judge her for this.

He simply held her until she felt numb from exhaustion and they returned to camp.

~

After the battle with the archdemon and Alistair took the throne and she’d said her goodbyes to her companions she excused herself to a private room that had been reserved for her.

“What is wrong, _mi amora_? You’re missing out on the celebrations.” She turned around, unsurprised to see Zevran hovering uncertainly at the door. She supposed a regular person wouldn’t notice anything was amiss but she now knew Zevran as well as he knew her.

“We won,” Mahariel stated plainly. “But even so, there’s still so much to be done. I’ve decided to find new Grey Wardens.” She hesitated. “But part of me wonders why _I_ have to do it. I’ve wondered that ever since I joined. Does that make me selfish? To wish I could shirk my own duty while forcing one upon Alistair?”

“You are far from that,” Zevran said, stepping through the door. He glided over to her and wrapped his arms about her waist, giving her a gentle squeeze. “You worry too much for one person. Also, you left me behind; how am I to protect you from the Crows if I lose sight of you, hm?”

“Aren’t you the one in need of protection from the Crows?” Mahariel asked wryly.

“Undoubtedly! So let us protect each other. Now, you should really get back to that party of yours. Alistair will come around. Even he knows that sometimes we must do something we detest. If it helps, rest assured I won’t force you to face the unwashed masses alone.”

Mahariel almost acquiesced but she needed to know something else first.

“It’s not just that.” Part of her hated herself for having to ask but, “Will you really be able to stay, Zevran?” She could think of a great deal of reasons why he wouldn’t be able to despite his best intentions. She could also see any number of things taking her away as well, not least of which was the taint running through her veins.

He lifted his hand and fiddled with the earring she now wore. It was one of her most cherished belongings. She knew that it represented, in a unique way, Zevran’s old ties to the Crows and the lovers and friends he had made there. He was willing to share all of that with her. It was a heady sensation to know someone trusted her with their everything.

“I know I didn’t say it when I gave this to you but …” he hesitated. “You mean the world to me. There is no place I would rather be than at your side. Should we ever part, it would only be temporarily. You know I adore you too much for it to be forever.”

There was only one response to be made to that. “I love you, Zev.”

“And I you. So let us find those Grey Wardens! Let us have magnificent adventures. You saved the world and lived to tell the tale; I think you can endure a little party.” He spun her around in an imitation of a dance and the world seemed a little better for it.

“All right, all right. Let’s head out.”

She felt lighter than she had for some time. She could admit to herself now that while things weren’t perfect they were still closer to it than she’d ever thought she would get.

When she rejoined the party she didn’t even notice the bitterness in Alistair’s eyes or Morrigan’s absence. She just let herself absorb the good mood of the room and dined on the food and wine Zevran kept fetching for both of them. Afterwards they slept in an actual bed and dreamed the dreams of heroes.


End file.
